


The Cast-Iron Prince

by Anonymous



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Captive Prince - Freeform, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealous Laurent (Captive Prince), M/M, Master/Slave, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Sexual Content, Submissive Character, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, happens after the first book, the regent needs to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Have I done something to upset you?” The chains keeping his arms bound in front of him nervously jingled together. Damen was seated awkwardly on the floor, trying to find a way for the iron binding at his feet not to rub into his skin.How sweet, Laurent thought, acting as if fucking one of my guards is nothing to be ashamed of. It would have been different if they were subtle about it, but he took Aimeric so loudly the entire regimen knew by now.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Unfinished Pleasure

Laurent wanted Damen to suffer. He wanted to watch everything he loved be burned to nothing. No, no that was too safe. He wanted Damen to reach pure, unfettered happiness only to have it all torn away from him the second he tasted the sweetness of it.

“Good evening, my Prince.”

The pleasant greeting fell to unsympathetic ears. “Slave,” Laurent returned. 

He flinched back. Laurent hadn’t called him that in some time, and he seemed confused as to what brought back the derogatory term.

“Have I done something to upset you?” The chains keeping his arms bound in front of him nervously jingled together. Damen was seated awkwardly on the floor, trying to find a way for the iron binding at his feet not to rub into his skin.

How sweet, Laurent thought, acting as if fucking one of my guards is nothing to be ashamed of. It would have been different if they were subtle about it, but he took Aimeric so loudly the entire regimen knew by now.

Aimeric was beautiful, any man with eyes could see that much. Laurent assumed that it would be Jord, or hell-willing, Govart to stake his claim first. Aimeric would be a thing of lust and envy to anyone that took him during their stay at Chastillon.

He never assumed that Damen would have taken him first, barely five days into their journey. He mounted him in the horse stables Govart liked to use for his excursions. Laurent was checking on his horse, making sure that her hooves were not damaged on the ride there, when he heard them. It was late, the cover of night making a dark film over everything, but it was clear what was happening in the stall across from him.

“How does it feel, slave?” He grasped his leash, jerking Damen forward. “How does it feel being mine?” Why did you lay with another?

He bit back a grunt, stubbornly choosing silence. Laurent would make him talk, given enough time. He knew all of the right buttons to push, all of the right words to say, to gain a reaction from the man.

He’d make his slave beg. Plead. Grovel. He’d make Damen do whatever the hell he wanted because he could.

“I asked you a question.” He yanked hard on the leash, making him fall to the floor in a choking mess. His head dropped to the tiles below when he pushed him down. Laurent hoped he chipped a tooth when he saw a few drops of blood on the ground, though when Damen warily lifted his head he saw it was only a busted lower lip.

Red looked so lovely against Damen’s dark skin, so unlike the blue robe Laurent painstaking laced on this morning. He recalled how the slave’s back had been drenched in the color before. Skin ripped to shreds, eyes fluttering open and closed as he battled with Death.

“I won’t ask again,” Laurent growled. “Give me your answer or I’ll paint all of you red. Perhaps the last time I had you whipped it wasn’t enough to teach a lesson.”

Damen cowered closer to the floor. Usually Laurent’s threats went over his head, though the crisscrossed mass of scars on his back were much too fresh for him to forget entirely.

Laurent smiled at his displeasure and ran a pale hand down his bare back. He had him stripped of everything but the trousers he wore before coming here, another insult to his pride. He knew that Damen did not mind nudity, no one in his barbaric country seemed to. Instead he wanted him mostly bare to make hurting him all the easier.

Each scar he traced, made Damen shiver at the memory and lean away.

“It’s an honor to be your--”

Laurent slapped him across the face. Hard. More of that brilliant red dripped down his chin, splattering onto the cold, unforgiving floor and staining it a beautiful shade of torment.

“If I wanted lies I would have called in my Uncle’s Regime.”

As soon as Laurent said the words he recalled he was not alone. Two guards he did not recognize, more than likely from the same Regime he just complained about, stood guard at the door. They watched him impassively, though he knew they were listening and preparing to report back to the Regent.

“Get out.” They watched Laurent for a moment, not moving. “I said leave us. I don’t care what orders my Uncle gave you. He is not here, and my word is yours to follow unless you want your ears cut off for ignoring me.” The two men went wide-eyed before obeying a second later.

Still, Damen said nothing when the guards were gone from sight. He looked where the men once stood, then back at the Prince as if expecting him to order him away as well.

“Are you thinking of trying to escape, you filthy barbarian?” Damen’s eyes hardened at the insult, one which Laurent made sure to use Damen’s own harsh tongue. He reveled in the reaction, happy to make the man squirm in front of him. “Your hands and legs are bound, and even if you manage to break those there are more guards outside this room. They are loyal to me,” to a fault, “and most would give a limb for the chance to hunt you down like an animal.”

“Why are you doing this?” Damen asked. He winced when Laurent dug his fingers into his back instead of replying. There were nail marks there from where Aimeric clutched onto him, begging him to go faster. Harder. More more more. 

Laurent left marks of his own, sending small crimson rivers down his back to replace the other wounds. He made sure to make his claw marks deeper and much more painful than those Damen acquired last night.

“You are my slave. My property,” he bit out. “Anything and everything that I decide to do to you is something you must learn to endure.”

He hung his head. “I have been obedient since the day you helped send my people to Patras. They are safe with Torveld looking over them thanks to you.” He lowered his head until it touched the floor. With his legs bound at the ankles, he had to awkwardly position himself so that all his weight rested on his knees. “I swore that I would do anything to keep them safe. If I have offended you in any form, I am sorry for it.”

Laurent stepped on the back of his head, grinding first his nose into the floor then his cheek. A surprised sound of discomfort slipped from his mouth, one that sounded too close to his euphoric moans last night that Laurent restrained himself from any more abuse.

Grateful for the release from pain, Damen slowly sat up to avoid more unpleasantness, still not daring to look him in the eyes. His nose was bashed and swollen and his lip still leaked blood that dripped onto his heaving chest. There was a slight bruise forming on the center of his forehead, though it could barely be disguised from his toned skin.

Laurent wanted to see him break completely, not partially. He wanted him to venture so far past the point of pain and pent-up frustration, becoming so completely undone before him that he would never live it down.

“Beg.”

Damen’s eyes shot up to his and for a moment Laurent caught sight of the man that was able to best the Regent’s personal ruffian. He saw defiance. A fighter, at least until the emotion faded into unwilling submission.

“Beg for what?” His voice was controlled, not to be mistaken as meek.

“For forgiveness. Or are we going to keep on pretending that Aimeric is on bedrest instead of accepting that he can’t walk after taking your cock?”

Damen’s face flushed, though not from shame. It was more of an embarrassment that he had been caught in lying.

“Forgive me for incapacitating Aimeric. Is that what you want to hear?”

There it is. That stubbornness. Laurent could have him whipped to the brink of death each month and still that foul attitude would remain engrained inside him. Damen could repress it, but it would always lurk just under his skin, itching to be free.

“I want you to tell me why you mounted him in the first place,” Laurent decided. “Aimeric is one of my men. If you hand taken one of the Regent’s men, I would have thanked you.”

Taking one of his Uncle’s men and fucking him raw would be a slap to his face. One of the Regent’s trusted, loyal soldiers, spread by the Prince’s pleasure slave. Oh, he could see his Uncle’s rage now, boiling over until he lost all the disgusting masks he put on to rule.

“He wasn’t unwilling,” Damen replied.

Unwilling. He knew Damen would never take someone unwillingly after the first day he arrived.

“Aimeric came onto me.”

“And you did not think to say no. Did you let your hard-on do all the thinking?”

“Why do you care who I bed?”

He laughed. “You did not bed anyone yesterday. You fucked the lad in the back of the stables like a wild animal. Growling and grunting. Thrusting so deep that Aimeric couldn’t stand without your help.” Truly, it was a sight to see.

Damen almost allowed a smile. “I assumed that one of the guards reported us, though it seems you know too much for that to be true. Did you enjoy the show then?”

“Hardly.”

Lies. Laurent went to his room as soon as the two had left the stables, hand searching out places he swore he’d never touch again. He never intended to let someone get him hard, yet with Damen around that seemed to happen more and more often.

He went years without the need to touch himself or relieve sexual fantasies. His Uncle’s unwelcome visits during his adolescent years made him cold. Unresponsive. Limp. Nothing could make him want sex after what he experienced, yet Damen somehow pushed all of those terrible memories away. He made him forget. He made him feel and he despised him for it.

“You should have asked before taking one of my men. What if someone attacked Chastillon and one man made the difference in our survival?”

“Aimeric is too soft to kill.”

“Too soft,” Laurent mused. “I bet you know all about how soft he is after taking him again and again.”

“I was pent up,” he defended. “There are not many opportunities to relieve myself when in your company.”

“I seem to recall you had no issue taking me in the baths.”

“You had me whipped senseless for that reaction. Hardly inspiring.”

Laurent bristled. “I had you beaten because you did not know when to stop,” he hissed. “I told you to let go of me, yet you held on. If you learned to take orders sooner then perhaps your back wouldn’t be covered in scars.”

“I learned my lesson, my scars are proof of that.” He strained against his bonds, edging nearer. “What I want to know is: why grind my face into the floor? Why call me ‘slave’ when you know I hate the word?”

He’s looking to be punished with all these questions and Laurent was all too happy to oblige.

“Stand up.” He kicked his knees when he failed to follow directions. “Move faster than that.”

Damen stood.

“Come here,” Laurent ordered.

He stepped closer. “Is this befitting of your preference?” Damen mocked.

Laurent gave no answer. “Bend your head lower. Yes, there.” 

He reached around Damen’s neck and found the clasp holding his collar closed. He undid it, then tightened it three notches more than before. Damen swallowed tentatively, nearly choking on his spit.

“Too tight.”

“Did I ask for your input?” He closed his mouth. “Good boy. It seems the dog knows when to stop whining after all.” He petted his head then dug his fingers into his thick, black hair. Yanking his head down he whispered, “Listen closely. One wrong move, one attempt to bite the hand that feeds you, and I will not hesitate to put you down. Am I clear?”

He nodded, saying nothing. Laurent liked how he struggled against the tight collar he wore, rapidly blinking and only breathing shallow, even breaths despite his racing pulse. He pretended like this didn’t affect him. As if he wasn’t afraid.

Adorable. His fear-fueled him forward.

“How does it feel, being inside of another man? Did he squeeze you in all the right places, or was he too loose for your tastes?” Damen couldn’t speak up so Laurent went on. “It’s a shame that you finished on his back. It’s poor form not filling your partner up to their limit. Did you grow tired of him after all and decide that there was no use coming inside?”

“Please--” He tried to cough though only choked himself further. “Could you loosen the collar?”

His fingers clawed at the soft leather futilely, unable to reach the clasp in the back. Laurent tugged on his leash again and said, “Stop resisting.”

His hands fell back in front of him, resting at his waist. Laurent wondered if he could make him hard by talking about his night with Aimeric, though judging from the bulge he was trying to hide, he already succeeded.

He grinned. “Aroused already? Do you like pain?” he wondered. “Perhaps you like being the Prince’s bitch?” Damen might have nodded, though that could have been another attempt to rid himself of his collar. “I’ve barely begun, yet you’re already so hard. Did the guard leave you so unsatisfied that you need help unloading again?”

Damen made a strangled sound, eyes wide and pleading. Laurent sighed and unfastened his collar to keep him from passing out cold. He watched him fall to his knees, gasping for breath.

Laurent gave him no time to recover. Extending a foot, he pressed against the growing hardness between the man’s thighs, using more force than necessary.

He moaned, covering his mouth too slow to keep the sound inside.

“Disgusting.” Beautiful. “Look at you getting so worked up over my foot alone.” He pulled back and Damen’s hips instinctively jerked forward, seeking his contact.

“It won’t go away if all you do is tease me,” he panted.

“Then ask for help,” he suggested, moving further back. “You can grind against the floor all you want, but I don’t think cold tiles will offer any solace to your current state.”

“If you. . .” he struggled for the right words, head so full of lust that Laurent could practically see it. “If you could free my hands I could take care of myself.” He held out his bound wrists expectantly.

“I don’t recall asking you if you could touch yourself.”

“My Prince, please. I know you despise any sort of intimacy with another,” he breathed unevenly. “Let me take care of this before I go mad.”

“I’m offering my help now. It is not your place to decide what I want and what I don’t.” He bent down until his face was level with his. “Now, be a good slave and beg for your Master’s attention. Beg me to help that aching, throbbing part of you that wants release.”

Laurent teased a hand forward, breezing over the cloth around Damen’s waist. He was not disgusted by the contact as he expected to be. Instead, he felt something hot tugging at the pit of his stomach. A different kind of hunger he thought he was never going to experience in this life again.

“P-please Master.” Damen was past the point of caring what he looked like and Laurent loved every drooling, messy second of it. However, Damen kept his eyes downcast as he spoke even as he gravitated closer to Laurent’s touch.

“Look at me when you are speaking.”

He slowly glanced up, long lashes framing beautiful brown eyes. Tears glistened on his cheeks, spilling from shame and a desperate need for physical intimacy he could hardly control.

“I need you to touch me.”

“Where, Damen?” Laurent’s voice was impossibly sweet, glossing over his cruelty of making his prey wait. He could play the game all night long if Damen wanted to be coy and evasive. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

His hands started at his back, traveling down to his chest. He skipped over his groin and started tracing lines against his thighs. Spelling out what he wanted to do to him, knowing that each touch made him hurt more.

“My cock.” His voice broke. “Touch it, please.”

Laurent’s hand moved up and teased just the tip of it, still only pleasing him overtop of his clothing. Damen shuddered, shoulder caving inward.

“Yes, there. Right there.”

His hand slipped down his trousers, playing with what he found underneath. Damen bit his lip to suppress his sound, reopening the cut.

“Do you like it when I touch you, Damen?” He slowed his pace, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” The word barely passed from his lips before another hopeless moan followed.

How empowering it was to bring him to his knees. The best fighter of all the slaves, shuddering from his touch. Reduced to pathetic, hushed sounds when his hands tightened around his cock. Mouth spilling drool as he gave into whatever handouts he would provide.

He was close. Laurent could tell from the tightening of his jaw and how he closed his eyes that he was preparing to come. Just before he could find his euphoria, Laurent stopped stroking, earning a murderous look from his prey.

“What the hell?”

“Patience is a virtue.” He wiped his hands free of the pre that dripped from his fingers.

“You’re evil.”

“Why, thank you for noticing. How about you see if Aimeric is ready for another round or if you've broken him beyond repair?”

“Sick bastard.”

Sick? Perhaps. “Mettlesome whore.”

“Cold-hearted cock teaser.”

He loved how he said the last insult. He never swore much, but when he did Laurent was never disappointed. Damen still watched him, hopeful that he would change his mind and let him finish. How futile, he thought, clinging to such a hopeless idea.

“The next time someone spreads for you, remember this.” Remember me.

“Why would I do that?” he huffed. “I want nothing more than to forget your petty game.”

“Remember this because you will not be leaving your room without my permission.” Damen made a ‘tch’ of protest. “Every time you need to eat, piss, or fuck, I will know because you are mine.”

He fell into shocked, brooding silence. Eventually, he worked up the courage to ask, “Why are you so intent on torturing me?”

“Because you make it so entertaining to watch.”

Laurent left him on the floor of his room, hard, irritated, and aching for more.


	2. Blank Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon he was bare and wanting, eyeing Laurent to see what he thought of his form.
> 
> “Do you imagine me bending for you?” Laurent started undoing the lacing on his sleeves. His fingers were deft and made quick work of the threads, working with practiced grace. Unlike Damen, he grew up wearing clothes like this and was used to the hassle.
> 
> “I’ve never been able to imagine you bending for anyone, least of all me,” he answered, gaze following his every gesture.
> 
> Shirt now unlaced, he climbed into bed beside Damen. “Undress me.”
> 
> “Just the shirt?”
> 
> “Everything.”

Two weeks. Two weeks and Laurent still found him maddeningly interesting. During that time, he didn’t talk to him. He didn’t see him beyond accidental meetings in the hall. Yet he never stopped thinking of Damen.

One night he left no guards outside Damen’s door. He made sure that he was not restrained, and he waited for another chance to make Damen pay for trying to escape. Any sane person would have taken the chance to run. Find the freedom he wanted in the borders of Akielos, which loomed close to the stronghold.

He stayed in his room. Nothing changed, yet everything had. 

From the beginning, their deal was for him to leave as soon as his control over Ravenel was secured. Yet now he balked at the chance of freedom when it was right in front of him. Why did he stay, Laurent wondered. Why put up another second with his endless demands and orders?

The day Aimeric went back to training was the day his resolve faltered. The man continued on, joking and taunting soldiers as if nothing happened. Like Damen hadn’t taken him time and time again in that cramped horse stall.

“Jord, bring him to me.” There was anger in his voice, and a slight tone of jealousy he barely concealed.

The man faltered. “Damen?”

“Yes, the slave,” Laurent hissed. “Who else?”

“Sorry, my Prince.” Jord bowed his head respectfully. “It’s just that it’s been some time since you asked for him.”

He called him to his room that night. Laurent stayed dressed in his clothes for the day, trussed up in his best and showing no weakness. Someone had seen it fit to allow Damen to wear Veretian clothes, the delicate lacing looking all wrong on his broad form. Laurent immediately suspected Jord was the culprit. He’d want him to blend in with the rest of the men as they trained and prepared, and dressing like he belonged in Vere was as good a start as any.

“Your highness,” he greeted, the cut on his lip nothing more than a faint red memory. He wondered if the wounds on his back were healed, then dismissed the idea. There would be scabbing over the wounds now, though he doubted it would be tender to the touch.

“Why are you so intriguing?” Laurent began with a scowl. “I’ve kept you locked up for weeks, yet still my mind wanders back to you.”

“I’m not all that interesting,” Damen countered.

“Funny.” He didn’t laugh. “Most people don’t have to defend how uninteresting they are.”  
Laurent stalked closer, entertained by how quickly the slave’s head turned forward, eyes intently cast to the ground out of habit.

“Why have you called me here?” he asked the floor. “Are you sick of approving all of my requests to piss and eat?”

Yes, actually, though he’d never admit. Damen seemed to wait until the middle of the night to make his requests, leaving Laurent with a headache that wouldn’t go away. Seeing his smug smile only made his annoyance grow.

“You’re impossible to figure out,” Laurent decided. “You claim to be obedient after all that I’ve done for you, yet you wake me up in the middle of the night with your requests. I’d understand you better had you run away last night, but you stayed.”

Damen’s smile fell slightly. “There is no point in me trying to escape. I noticed that no guards were present the other night, but you’d hunt me down if I tried anything.”

“I would have let you go.” Maybe. Possibly.

“No, you wouldn’t. You need me to help you plan battles and point out flaws in your troops.”

“I don’t care what you do.” It was a white lie. He did care, but only slightly.

Damen’s jaw clenched. “If that’s the case, why confine me to my room? You seem to want to know everything that I’m doing—”

“Who you are doing,” he interrupted. “You’ve held back since I tightened your leash. Do you strictly fuck in stables? Aimeric waits near the back of the stalls, hoping you’ll find a way to bend him over again.”

Laurent did not mean to yell. When he stopped speaking, he knew that Damen caught his mistake though he couldn’t tell what he made of the sudden burst of emotion.

Laurent said too much. He sounded too interested in who he bedded. Did he give away his motives for asking him here tonight? He was still figuring out why he asked himself.

“Aimeric will have to be disappointed then,” Damen carefully replied, “especially if my Prince continues to keep me locked up.”

“Was that a complaint, slave?”

Damen licked his lip, tongue darting over the ghost of a cut lingering at the corner of his mouth. He knew what talking back led to: pain and punishment.

“You decide, Master.”

So he liked being roughed up. Laurent grinned, making sure that he saw the emotion before he struck. Laurent targeted his weak spots, nails scratching across his shoulders first, moving down to the collar he wore. There was no leash around his neck this time, he had no need for it. Damen’s hands were free to roam or fight, though he kept perfectly still.

“You take punishment so well,” Laurent observed. “Have I broken you in already?” His nails were sharp enough to cut, but he didn’t go deep. He left shallow, almost pleasant, scratches around his neck as he teased him.

“J-Jord mentioned that you wanted to see me this morning, but opted to meet at night instead.” He gasped when his nails sunk deeper, red droplets beading up from his broken skin. “Why wait?” he breathed.

How long has he wanted this, Laurent wondered. How many nights did he touch himself, wishing it was someone else’s hands roaming across his skin?

“The last time I called you here,” he released his hold on Damen’s skin, licking the blood that stuck to his nails, “I spoke of patience. Have you learned some yet?”

Damen’s eyes glazed over with lust. “I’ve learned too much of it.”

“Did you touch yourself after the last time we met?”

“There was never a chance to. My hands were bound and by the time Jord found me the need was gone.”

Laurent lapped up the answer. Holding pleasure from him, calling him ‘mine’, leaving marks on his tempting body, all of it made him want more.

“The only bed you’ll ever need is mine,” he gritted out, “and the only pleasure you take is what I see fit to allow you.”

Damen nodded instantly, thoughts of his excursion with Aimeric far from his mind. Laurent had allowed him to be pleasured before, under his strict guidance. He still recalled how well Ancel took his cock in his mouth. The way Damen’s sight strayed from the boy bent in front of him to Laurent as he came. He seemed more pleased from Laurent’s orders than the service Ancel provided.

Damon swallowed nervously. “The men think that we’re—” he bit off his sentence.

“Intimate,” Laurent supplied, hand falling to his shoulder. He moved the shirt he wore enough to inspect the wounds he left before. Sure enough, there were impressions of his fingernails, in some places more like claw marks, left on his skin. Let the guards assume what they wanted when they saw these marks. Let them wonder who was in charge when they were behind closed doors.

Laurent enjoyed the game, the thrill, of leaving people guessing. He’d make sure that none of the guards were quite certain who’d come out on top.

“Yes,” Damen agreed. “Intimate.”

“Do you encourage these rumors, or do you like to reject them?” His fingers trailed to his chest, slipping underneath the golden collar he wore and urging his gaze upwards. “Tell me, what do the guards think of our nighttime meetings? Do they envy you, or despise you for holding the Prince’s attention?”

“You wouldn’t want to hear the things they said.”

“Too vulgar?” He chuckled. “I assure you, I’ve heard worse.” Seen worse. Been through worse.

Laurent dropped his collar, hand moving down to the gold cuffs on his wrists. He was not bound at the wrists and ankles like before. Laurent only used them before because he wanted to remind him who was in charge.

Gold looked so appealing against his skin. He had the sudden urge to tie him up in the corner and watch him struggle until a thick, bloody crimson joined the metallic shade. Usually the color red left his stomach queasy. It was the color the Regent’s men wore after all. 

The main reason he wore blue was to stand out from his Uncle’s mindless followers. Blue meant he was out of his control. Outside his area of influence. K  
Impossible to touch or torment ever again.

“The men,” Damen’s voice spared him from his unpleasant thoughts, “speak about sharing your bed.”

Oh how lovely, he thought. He put it gently. He knew his men were wildly creative with the ways they dreamed of taking him. Tied up like a pig, and taken raw. Mouth stuffed so full of cum he couldn’t use his snake-like tongue to attack them. All they wanted to do was thaw their cold, cast-iron bitch and make sure their cocks were well-placed inside him.

“Tell me how they want me,” he ordered. He wanted to hear it from someone else to make sure he wasn’t the only one suffering. “Does it make you squirm when they talk about fucking me, or do you laugh and join in?”

Damen jerked back at the last suggestion. “I’d never talk about you like they do. When they start getting out of hand, I usually find myself reaching for my sword to shut them up.” His shoulders drooped a bit. “I haven’t been able to in recent days, since you stopped permitting me to carry a weapon.” 

Laurent glanced at his hips, noting the apparent lack of weaponry. “Don’t sound so glum. You’re the one that mounted the wrong boy and lost the privilege of owning a sword.”

“Aimeric has already moved on,” Damen dismissed. “He has Jord now.”

So that’s who staked his claim after Damen was confined to his room. Jord had seemed different in recent days. More relaxed and easy to smile now that he has someone to unload in.

Lust made people lose focus. Sometimes it was a weakness, distracting them from life until a dagger was plunged into their back. Other times two people completed each other, filling in the gaps and holes where they could.

Laurent couldn’t quite figure out if Damen was a deadly distraction, or his to claim.

“I have been waiting for you to call for me,” Damen went on, his want pressing through his trousers. “After a week of not hearing from you, I assumed you forgot about our meetings.”

“Forget my property? That seems rather careless,” he remarked.

Damen looked so impossibly easy that Laurent couldn’t help but want to break him a bit. He liked pain, after all. He liked the teasing, the unfinished pleasure, the taunts. Damen’s mind was left reeling from his visits, eager for the next chance to feel good again.

“Jord warned that you might grow tired of me. I started worrying that he was right, not that you were being careless.”

“I’ve told you before, patience is a virtue.”

“I don’t care about virtue.”

“Whose virtue?” Laurent wondered. “Yours, or mine?”

He thought for a moment. “Both.”

No care for virtue yet he acted more like a saint when compared to those around him. “You don’t fuck boys, you hate fighting unarmed men, and you’ve hardly broken any of my orders.”

“You know me well, my Prince.”

“Your virtue, at least in the moral sense, seems to be intact,” he said, ignoring his comment. He hadn’t noticed how much he retained about the slave until he said those things out loud. He was beginning to lock in his habits, the way he spoke to others, and even how he despised Veretian clothing with a passion unlike any other.

Clothing. What would he look like without all those lacings keeping his shirt tied to him? The clothes fit him well, there was no arguing that, yet Laurent couldn’t stop wondering what he would look like stripped of them. 

He knew his body to a fault, having glimpsed it in the baths when they first met. Yet he never appreciated him now, and oh, there was so very much for him to admire about Damen. The long, impossibly dark lashes. The fighters build, and how he swallowed Laurent’s frame with his own. His black hair, he recalled, was soft to the touch. Perfect to sink his hands into and yank in a heated passion.

If Aimeric couldn’t walk after a single night with him, he must be fierce with his passions. Still, the careful-spoken man in front of him seemed willing to do anything to earn his favor, even if that meant shifting his pace to match Laurent’s more subdued one. He’d be gentle, if he asked him to. Or hard and brutal, once he warmed up to the idea.

“I heard—” Damen cut off abruptly. “Nevermind.”

“Speak.”

“My Prince, it’s not something I should be asking,” he explained. “It’s just that the men here think so highly of you—”

“Compliments mean nothing to me. I receive hundreds a day.” His gaze grew cold. “Ask me your question.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he corrected. “Do I need to order you to talk? What is the best way to trick your tongue into speaking freely?”

He might have flushed. The lights were too dim for Laurent to be certain but he swore his cheeks were redder than before.

“You have such a vibrant vocabulary,” Damen said, “yet people call you cold.”

“Are you wondering if I have the experience to back my insults?” he pressed. “Is this your way of asking if I’ve ever fucked someone?”

Damen’s gaze fell to the floor. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ve overstepped.”

“Do not apologize if you want an answer. Ask me properly and you might get a reply.”

He hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes to see if he was being serious. Finally the questions tumbled out of his mouth. “Are you a virgin? Have you slept with a woman?”

Laurent smirked. “Those are two very different questions.”

“Not where I come from.”

“Ah yes. The Akielos barbarians have nothing against bastards,” he insulted. “They even have one as their King, and a whore standing beside him.”

Laurent pushed him too far. He could see it in the hardening of his shoulders and the quivering in his jaw. Lust faded from his mind, replaced with hurt.

“Please do not bring Kastor into this.”

“Do you care for that fool?” His jealousy rose up, showing its fangs. “Oh, that’s right; you spread for him before coming here. Is that why he sent you to me? You bored him in bed so he turned you into a pleasure pet for his enemy?”

“Stop it, Laurent.”

He paused. “What did you call me?”

Damen’s eyes widened with panic as he caught his mistake. “My Prince,” he corrected immediately. 

“No, repeat what you said before.” Damen worried at the fading cut on his lip, voice caught in his collar-bound throat. “Say it again.”

“Laurent.” He said it like he would be punished, forcing out the word as fast as he could and waiting for the impact that would follow. When he opened his eyes, there was no strike to the cheek. No forehead dug into the ground. No more scratches on his back. Damen let out a surprised breath.

“When did we become so close that you thought you could call me by my name?” Laurent asked, incredulously. “You know nothing about me.”

“But I want to,” he rushed to say. “Let me know you. I swear you won't be disappointed.”

“Don’t lie. You want freedom, and you think a night with me will get you that.” For once Laurent wasn’t certain he was correct. Damen sounded sincere about wanting to know him, but that was impossible. Laurent frowned. “You still wear your collar and cuffs. You’re still mine.”

“I wouldn't want to belong to anyone else.”

“Stop lying,” he spat.

“No, because it's not a lie.” He drew closer. “I’ve never been this way around anyone. What we are is a battle. You break me and complete me all at once.”

“Do you enjoy being broken?” He laughed, a humorless, dry sound. “Wait, do not answer that.”

“Are you afraid that I will agree?”

Laurent shook his head. “I know you will. You’re just insane enough to like what I do to you.”

“Then there is no need to silence me. You know my answer. Let me say it.”

Laurent fought against the swell of emotions inside. It was too much to look him in the eyes and see the emotion reflected back at him. It couldn’t be love, but it was something so similar it might be mistaken for it.

“Shut up.”

“You’ll have to make me.”

“You're trying to worm your way into my head, aren't you?” he accused. “I’d give up, if I were you. It’s too dark to survive.”

He grew up innocent, then lost his brother and suffered at his Uncle’s filthy hands. Vere is not a place for the weak, so he made himself stronger than those around him. He turned his tongue into a weapon and worked his body until he could fight. He made his beauty hide the monster underneath and Damen was stripping all of that work away. 

“I’m not that low. I’d never hurt you like that.”

“Too cruel for your tastes?” Laurent wondered. “Would you rather run me through with a sword then? Is that how you want to end me, a blade through the heart?”

Damen held his hand in the air in surrender. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I do not want you dead.”

“What do you want from me then? Everyone wants something from the Prince of Vere. Is it money? Power? A way out of your gilded bonds?”

“I want whatever parts of yourself you’re willing to share,” he answered. “I know you hate the idea of being close to me. I am from the land of your enemy,” his features turned with regret, “but you’ve changed me. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be the same again.”

Laurent wanted the lies to stop. He considered tying him to the post again and taking out his anger until his back was dripping red. He’d done it once before, though the idea of doing it again started to hurt deep in his chest.

He found himself carefully reaching for the golden cuffs at his wrists. So long as he wore these, he belonged in Vere. He belonged with Laurent. The second he lost the gold their relationship— whatever this messy, screwed up thing was—would disappear.

“I never wanted a pleasure slave,” he started. “Frankly the idea disgusted me. You were everything I hated,” Damen winced, “until you became something else.” 

When Damen’s eyes slowly met his, he didn’t punish him. He didn’t break his skin with his nails, or grab for his collar to choke him. He held the look until Damen asked, “What do you think of me now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he confessed. “You make me think far more than you should.”

“Do you hate me?”

“Sometimes, but that’s not all that I feel for you.” Laurent’s hands moved to his back, tracing the raised lines regretfully. “I could have killed you that day. I meant to, honestly. How did you survive those lashes?”

Damen didn’t flinch from his touch. Instead, he gravitated towards it. “I wanted to live out of spite. I wanted to become a nuisance to you because that’s all I could be as your slave.”

Laurent chuckled. “Your plan worked well.”

Damen’s hand reached out slowly and took hold of his. He gently folded their fingers together, interlocking their hands and sealing the contact with a kiss to his knuckles. “Make me yours,” he requested. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but please make me stay.”

“For how long?” Laurent did not try to separate their hands. Whatever thick emotion hung in the air was not the primal one that stank up the barn when Aimeric and Damen were in the throes of passion. This was fragile. New.

Dangerously appealing.

“Forever, if you can learn to tolerate me,” he replied.

“I’m not sure that forever will be long for us. I have many enemies inside and out of the court.”

“I'll take what time we can get.”

Where was the feral, biting man from the barn? What happened to the possessive growls he emitted as he sunk deeper into Aimeric? This version of Damen was so very slow, every movement hesitant like Laurent might recoil if he wasn’t careful. Did the rumors of his coldness cause this hesitation, or was it his punishments that brought on the reaction? 

“You do not treat me like your other lovers.”

“You are not like them in the slightest.” 

“Should I take offense to that?”

Damen squeezed his hands reassuringly. “I hope not. Your difference is mesmerizing and dangerous. Like a snake coiled for attack. One wrong move and I might end up losing a finger, or worse.”

“Most people that desire me think I need protection.”

Damen looked taken aback by the idea. “I have seen you slit a man’s throat without batting an eye. If you were not so heavily drugged that night, you would have taken out every single man in that room without me there to assist you,” Damen said. “You do not need anyone's protection, least of all what I have to offer.”

“What does that make us then?” he wondered. “Friends?” Something more?

“I am whatever you want me to be.”

Laurent smiled, all of the rumors concerning their relationship bubbling to mind. “My bed slave. My barbarian toy.” He brought his lips to his ear. “My whore.”

A tight breath left his lungs at the word ‘whore’. It made his legs rub together in anticipation, his pulse speeding up and flushing his body. It made him weak and ripe for the taking.

“I’m not like that,” he protested vainly. “I don’t give out to everyone that wants me.”

“You’re not fooling me. You like attention from others.” He pressed against him, feeling the hardness growing between his thighs. “Do you recall when Ancel pleasured your cock? When Aimeric spread for you in the stalls?” Laurent’s hand slipped against his trousers, clutching at what it found. “When you begged for me to touch you like the pathetic slut you are.”

His words made Damen greedy. He eyed the bed, waiting for permission to go there.

“My my, you seem to be expecting a lot to come from tonight,” Laurent teased. “Does my pleasure slave want to make himself useful?”

Damen muttered a demure, “Yes, Master,” under his breath.

“If I give you what you want, will you leave me?”

“I don’t know how to leave you, my Prince.”

This earned another smile. “Go to the bed.” 

Damen reluctantly let go of his hand and did as he was told, hovering beside it. 

“Strip.”

He tensed up. “My Prince?”

“You heard me. Strip,” he said with more force. He did not growl, that could come later if he behaved poorly.

Damen slowly obeyed, struggling with the laces running up his arms. He was clearly helped into his clothes this morning and Laurent’s mood darkened at the idea of someone else seeing him undressed.

“I thought you would be more than eager to carry out my commands with the way you acted last time,” he drawled. “Hurry up.”

He gave a defeated grunt. “It’s not my fault that Veretian clothing is so impossible to take off.” He stopped struggling, eyeing Laurent’s clothes. Damen’s sight traveled up and down his body, resting at his hips.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Focus on your task.”

Damen shook his head to escape whatever naughty daydream occupied his mind then attacked his laces with more vigor. Unfortunately, his efforts only further knotted the strings together, leaving him hopelessly trapped in his clothes.

Laurent watched him struggle, highly amused, and started undoing the laces of his own shirt. Damen caught sight of a sliver of his pale chest, hands freezing.

“Stop staring, slave. Ask for help if it is needed.”

“These laces are worse than restraints.”

“I should have you strung up by them one day. Completely at my mercy.” Laurent felt for the dagger at his side. He always kept at least one weapon on him after his last attack.

Damen took one look at the dagger and gulped. “What is that for?”

“I want to disembowel you and hang your entrails from my bed. Did you know that intestines make for a ravishing canopy?” 

He brought the knife to his stomach, pressing just enough to draw blood. Damen stopped breathing until the blade moved to his wrists, cutting through the troublesome lacing running up his arms. Laurent cut meticulously, not leaving behind a single mark on his skin, save for the fresh cut on his chest.

“Thank you,” Damen said once the lacing was no longer troubling him.

“Finish your task, slave.”

Damen picked at the end of his shirt, not moving to take it off. “Patience, my Prince.”

His shirt sagged off one shoulder, revealing the marks he left on his weeks ago. Laurent expected him to be bare by now. However, only a teasing silver of his shoulder and chest was visible to him.

Setting his dagger aside, he reached for his shirt. Instead of helping him out of it, he pushed him to the bed and climbed on top of him. He pressed a hand to his chest and ordered one final, “Strip,” in a growl of a voice. Damen’s hands went to Laurent’s shirt and started tugging up. “I was not referring to me, you fool.”

“Help me then. Show me what you want me to do.”

Turning his offer of aid against him. Laurent was mildly impressed, but more annoyed by the lack of respect towards his command. He shifted his foot and placed a tall, black boot beside Damen’s thigh. “Take off my boots.”

Damen eased one boot off, then the other. His fingers danced across his heel, traveling up his thigh until Laurent smacked his searching hands away.

Laurent could feel how hard he was underneath his trousers. What started out as a simple arousal bloomed into a throbbing ache that he ground on for a moment. As soon as Damen let out a moan, he backed off his lap and said, “Now that you've had your demonstration, finish undressing.”

He started with his shirt, grabbing a handful of the fabric and yanking it over his head. His trousers followed, resting on his hips for a second and allowing Laurent to admire the bulge the clothing barely concealed. Damen didn’t wear shoes. He never did when indoors if he could avoid it.

Soon he was bare and wanting, eyeing Laurent to see what he thought of his form.

“Do you imagine me bending for you?” Laurent started undoing the lacing on his sleeves. His fingers were deft and made quick work of the threads, working with practiced grace. Unlike Damen, he grew up wearing clothes like this and was used to the hassle.

“I’ve never been able to imagine you bending for anyone, least of all me,” he answered, gaze following his every gesture.

Shirt now unlaced, he climbed into bed beside Damen. “Undress me.”

“Just the shirt?”

“Everything.”

He wanted to lie naked with him, hands roaming across every scar he had on his body. He ached to feel Damen’s skin against his own and move past the abuse he suffered before.

Sleeping with Damen felt like a sin. However, he could not think of any other man he wanted in his bed but him. Laurent would let Damen expose him. He might even let Damen take him tonight, but only if he swore to be his forever.

“You look stunning,” Damen said as he took off his shirt. He did not touch Laurent more than necessary, hands skimming across his waist and shoulders. 

“Tell me more,” Laurent commanded. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me. How much you’ve ached for a night like this.”

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He unbuckled his trousers. “No matter how much I despised you then, I couldn’t help but want you for myself.” His pants slid down his thighs and down his legs until Damen left them a crumpled heap on the floor.

Laurent felt exposed, and not just from his nudity. He could feel something inside shifting, making room for Damen in his life. Damen claimed that he changed him, but Laurent wondered if he’d changed as well.

“You want me,” Laurent echoed.

“I need you.” Damen leaned forward and pressed his lips against Laurent’s. 

It was a quick, fleeting kiss interrupted by Laurent pushing him back down on the bed, one hand on his chest to keep in control. “Do not leave me,” he ordered, climbing onto his lap. He hovered just above Damen’s lap, never breaking eye contact. “Never make me worry that I cannot trust you.”

“Keep me by your side and you’ll never worry again.” 

Damen kissed him again, fist burrowing into his golden hair. After a moment, his tongue slipped into Laurent’s mouth, silencing any of his concerns. Laurent closed his eyes and stopped thinking.

He felt along his back, fingers digging into the corded muscles, though he didn't leave any serious marks behind. There would be time for that later. He traced circles against his chest before lowering his hips and resting in his lap. Damen moved against him, bodies tightly pressed against each other, but never venturing further.

“Fuck me.”

Damen pulled back, shocked. “You hate me.”

“Does that matter now? Show me what you’ve been aching to do for the last fortnight.”

He waited until Laurent looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not cold anymore, Damen. You’ve thawed me.”

His grip tightened on Laurent’s thighs. For a moment he held impossibly still as he mulled over what he said. Then, ever so delicately, he grabbed both of Laurent’s hands, pressing his lips against each knuckle.

Laurent expected him to mount right away. This slow, steady love left him unexpectedly breathless. All of the sex he’d seen before was nothing like this careful demonstration. Vere was a place of discrete, fast pleasure. Damen seemed intent on drawing this out as long as possible.

“Do you want me to be gentle?” he asked, mouth moving to Laurent’s neck.

“I’m not sure how it’s supposed to be done.”

Damen nipped at his ear. “You said you weren't a virgin.”

“The last time I did this it wasn’t nearly as pleasant.”

Damen didn’t pry. Instead, he kissed lines up and down his back, traced Akielon words onto his thighs, and otherwise made it impossible to hold one line of thought for long. When he started humming compliments against his skin, Laurent shivered all over. 

Most people only complimented him while imagining brutalizing ways they wanted to take him. Damen’s compliments were gentle touches, caresses, and kisses against his flushed body. His slow process reminded Laurent that if he asked him to stop, Damen would comply. There were so few men like that in Vere.

He didn’t want him to stop.

“Oil,” Damen spoke up, hands pausing. “We need oil.” He glanced around for a moment. “Do you have any?”

Laurent reached underneath a pillow and deftly produced a vial. Damen didn’t ask why it was there, which he was glad for. It would embarrass him to no end if he knew that he spent the last week preparing himself for tonight. Touching himself and imagining that it was Damen entering him instead of his fingers.

His movements were slow and methodical. Damen’s years of sexual encounters put Laurent’s best efforts to please himself to shame. Laurent knew how it was between two men, all of the fights that ended in fearsome fucking left no room to be that naïve. 

But when Damen’s fingers started loosening him inside, he didn’t expect it to feel so good. His previous preparations made the initial discomfort pass quickly until he started rocking against his fingers. He was content with just that, until he recalled Aimeric. He would take him completely and show Damen there was no need for anyone else.

“Put it in.”

“You’re too tight. It’s going to hurt if you don’t let me—”

“Put. It. In.” Laurent slid off his fingers and hovered above Damen’s cock, knowing he’d get it one way or another.

Damen took little convincing, though he did change positions. He made Laurent go on his hands and knees, telling him it would be easier on him the next day if he took him from behind. One of Damen’s hands gripped his shoulder, the other bracing against his hip. When he first entered him, Laurent regretted not letting him finish loosening him up.

He silently applauded Aimeric for surviving his rough treatment. Then Damen sunk deeper and deeper until Laurent thought nothing at all.

When he struck the right place, Laurent let out a whimper that encouraged his partner to start moving back and forth. Damen did not try to rush him, allowing Laurent to adjust when he needed to. Their unhurried, rhythmic movements were nothing like the carnal scene from the horse stalls. This was thought out and wanted, not some fuck of the moment.

Each small grunt Laurent made encouraged Damen to move a bit more. Laurent wanted to silence the sounds completely, though his partner seemed to enjoy them immensely. He let some muted moans out when he couldn’t hold back anymore, and Damen gave soft words of encouragement.

“You’re doing so well.”

“Damen,” he panted, unable to say anything else. He wanted to tell how good he was making him feel, how his gentle thrusts made his brain go completely empty, and how much he loved the feeling of him deep inside. Another groan came out in place of the words, though Damen seemed to understand.

“Laurent,” he whispered in return.

Damen said his name again when he was close, chanting it in his ear along with a string of Akielon curses when he came inside. Laurent’s mind washed white when he lost control, spilling into Damen’s hand and silencing his sounds of pleasure against the mattress as best he could.

Laurent was the first to speak, long after they separated and long after Dames took him in his arms and didn’t let go. “Does it feel like this with everyone you take?”

Damen pursed his lips. “No. Not at all.”

Dread filled him. “Was it bad for you?”

Damen chuckled and pressed a kiss to his neck. “I came didn’t I?” He pulled him closer. “You were fantastic,” he reassured Laurent. “What I meant is, sex is different with everyone. You just happen to be perfect for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I know this chapter was rather long, though I felt there was a lot to address, or, ahem, undress, in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, yeah. The Captive Prince has completely wrecked me. Hope you all enjoy the aftermath.


End file.
